If you loved your son, Connor, you wouldn't begrudge his family a modest meal.
Frederick’s fever finally broke around 8:30 PM. The doctor gave us antibiotics and told us to keep him hydrated. Amy, still pale but less feverish, managed a weak smile.
“He’ll be okay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“I know,” I said, but my mind was already racing, fueled by Chloe’s revelations. I needed to get home. I needed to lock every door, every window, and throw Teresa Gable out of my life forever.
We pulled into our driveway at exactly 9:00 PM. The catering vans were gone. The party lights in the dining room were off. A single porch light cast a lonely glow on the front door.
I helped Amy and Frederick out of the truck. Frederick was now asleep, nestled securely in his car seat.
As I walked towards the side door, the one that led directly into the utility kitchen, I noticed something new. The old, familiar deadbolt was gone. A shiny, new brass one glinted in the porch light.
I tried my key. It didn’t fit.
A wave of disbelief washed over me. I tried the spare key. Nothing.
Then I walked around to the garage workshop. This was my sanctuary, where I worked on my cars, where I kept my tools, where I found peace.
A heavy-duty padlock, gleaming silver, secured the sliding door. My code didn’t work. My key didn’t work.
My jaw tightened. This couldn’t be happening.
Suddenly, the front door creaked open. My brother-in-law, Mark, stepped onto the porch. He wasn’t smiling.
“Connor,” he said, his voice unusually stiff.
Teresa Gable emerged from behind him, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She wore a silk robe, as if she owned the place.
“Mark, what is this?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous.
Mark shifted his weight, avoiding my gaze. “Evelyn and Amy… they agreed. Teresa’s going to handle things for a while. You need to… calm down. Act like a provider.”
My blood ran cold. “Agreed? Agreed to what? To lock me out of my own house?”
Teresa stepped forward, her eyes glinting. “Evelyn felt it was best for Amy. And for Frederick. You’ve been under a lot of stress, Connor. Amy needs a stable environment right now.”
Amy, still holding Frederick, stood beside me, her eyes wide and blank. She didn’t contradict them. She didn’t look at me.
“A stable environment?” I scoffed. “You’re bleeding us dry, Teresa! You’ve been running an illegal business out of my house!”
Mark took a step closer, his hands balled into fists. “Hey, watch your tone. Teresa’s been nothing but a good neighbor. You’re the one neglecting your family, letting Frederick get sick, yelling at Evelyn.”
“You think this is okay?” I gestured to the padlocked garage, the new deadbolt. “You think this is how a provider acts? By getting locked out of his own home by his own family?”
Teresa’s smirk widened. “It’s for the best, Connor. Until you can be reasonable.”
A suffocating feeling settled over me. Mark, Evelyn, even Amy—they were all against me. I was isolated, standing on my own porch, a stranger to my own home. I looked at Frederick, still asleep in Amy’s arms, his small face innocent. I couldn’t cause a scene that would wake him, distress Amy further. Not now. Not like this.
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